“One of the issues I’ve always found with royal families,” Winter continued, “is that family members often keep themselves distant from everyone, including each other. Some of the higher society families act the same way.
“The Martingale royal family’s not like that, but for good reason. Our family has been running a business, working for the World Council in a very special capacity, for at least six generations, that I’m aware of. You could say I was born into the family business.” He chuckled softly. “I was trained from birth that this is what I will do. But the thing is, by the nature of what we do, our family is incredibly close. We have to be, because nobody else around us knows who we truly are, either. When you’ve seen me in my fancy robes…”
“They are pretty,” Rupert said. “You wear them well. I didn’t mean to be disparaging about them, especially the one my father commissioned for you. That was mean of me.”
“It was mean because that particular robe was a very special gift from your father to his new son-in-law that I will treasure,” Winter agreed. “But I wear these fancy clothes, and all the jewelry, and everything else, so that people are distracted by me.They do write me off as frivolous. They do see me as nothing more than a peacock.”
Rupert would’ve happily lived his whole life never hearing that damn bird term again. But Winter hadn’t finished.
“It suits my purpose. You see, if you’re having to set an example, or project an image, then Rupert dear, you need to project an image that works for you.”
Leaning his elbow on the side of the bed, still making sure to keep hold of Winter’s hands, Rupert said, “I’m not sure how that works. I thought the image I was projecting did work for me.”
“It probably did, until it didn’t,” Winter said. But just when Rupert was going to protest, Winter added. “Rather, I should say your projected image has probably worked for years. During my research on you, I never heard anything about you behaving inappropriately, or you being anything more than the dutiful crown prince heir to Simigile that your father projects you to be. So in that respect, your image has worked for you. But it only works in the long term if that’s who you want to be. Otherwise, your image becomes a trap.”
Rupert nodded – he’d felt trapped so many times, well before his marriage.
“For myself, I can project my social butterfly image on society family members, in any court in the land, anywhere. And people think, oh, he’s such a pretty little thing, so frivolous. But do you know how much information you can glean from being considered frivolous?”
Rupert’s hand was suddenly gripped tighter, and Winter’s eyes gleamed in the lamplight. “People talk to me and tell me their secrets. They drop hints, spread gossip, share their plans - all because I give them the impression I’m really interested. Those people don’t see me as a threat. They look at me wearing myfancy clothes and figure the only thing I’m truly interested in is the address of their favorite tailor or seamstress – as if my only goal in life was looking good and projecting an example of elegance and style.”
“Are you sure it’s elegance?” Rupert smiled, hoping Winter would realize he was teasing. “I’ll give you stylish, but are you sure that robe you wore at Monce was elegant as well?”
“That look was the height of elegance.” Winter grinned, but just as quickly, he was half doubled over as a wave of pain went through him again. “Damn it,” he panted, when it passed. “This is such a nuisance. At least the redness is going away. I guess I don’t look very elegant now.” He blew up his face, trying to move his hair off his sweaty brow.
“It’s a process, unfortunately. You’ve probably got about another two or three hours before the worst is over,” Rupert said. “I want to know what the creature was that gave you the wound in the first place. I want to know or have some idea, at least, where you were because you gave me the impression that you just popped out for a brief walk the day I came back from the castle, and then clearly you were so tired from that brief amount of exercise, you retired to your bed for a nap when I wanted to talk to you.”
Rupert stopped for a moment as realization hit him. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? You were projecting what you thought I expected to see.”
“It worked. You didn’t ask any questions.” Winter was nodding. “If it hadn’t been for that ridiculous business with Tristan earlier this evening, then you would never have known.” Winter stopped for a moment, his eyes half closed. Another wave of pain was clearly hitting him. Winter breathed through it and then said, “It is late, Rupert dear. Don’t you think you should be getting some sleep?”
“Did you want to try and sleep?” Rupert said.
Chuckling, Winter shook his head. “I don’t think it’s going to be possible until this is finished. But Sigmund can always come in and sit with me, or my man, Pippin. I wouldn’t be alone if you were worried about that.”
“Whereas if I went to my bedchamber now, I would be alone,” Rupert said. “Would you mind very much if I stayed with you instead? We don’t have to talk. I’m happy to read for a while, but I feel I’d like to be here with you, if that’s all right with you.”
Winter nodded again. “That sounds nice. Who knows, maybe I’ll think of some more questions I want to ask you,” he said. “Although I do really wish I could sleep. That ridiculous business with Tristan...”
“If it’s any consolation, it’s unlikely Tristan will be sleeping either. The dungeons at Middlethorp aren’t known as comfortable places to stay.”
Sharing a chuckle with somebody in the dim light of a warm room was probably one of the most intimate things Rupert had ever done. No one was more surprised than him that he was doing it with his husband. He was going to enjoy it for as long as he could.
Chapter Seventeen
It was time. Winter had made a promise, and now it was time for him to have “the talk” with Rupert. It had been two days since Winter had managed to grit his teeth, for the most part, through the treatment for the shetherin that had caused him so much pain, and to then fully heal.
Once that secondary infection had completely gone, which had taken the twenty-four hours Rupert had indicated, it didn’t take long for Sigmund’s masterful healing skills to heal the gryphon claw wound. Winter’s belly was now free of marks apart from a small scar left by the deepest part of where the claw had caught him. But aside from that one little blemish, Winter was once more as comfortable and as energetic as he’d ever been.
There was another reason behind Winter’s decision that the talk had to be now. A missive had arrived from the World Council that morning. The department Winter worked for was concerned that the gryphon parents of the youngster he had captured were more likely to cause a disturbance in the area if they couldn’t find their young.
The gryphons had no reason for being in Simigile at all, leading to further concerns that they may be diseased or rogue creatures. The only other suggestion was that the beasts had followed a dragon into the area, but there were no known dragons in Simigile. The king had confirmed that himself in response to a seemingly casual question Winter had asked during one of their conversations.
Concerned about that and the possible chances of sightings among the locals, the World Council wanted Winter to take care of the problem before a sighting might cause widespread panic around the country.
Winter could understand their unease, and under normal circumstances their request wouldn’t have been a problem. He had fully intended to go back out after the gryphon parents as soon as he had healed from the original claw wound. His husband had – at that point – at least three more weeks of socializing that Winter was aware of, so disappearing for half a day wouldn’t be a problem.
But Rupert had returned, and for whatever reason, he didn’t seem keen on leaving Winter’s side for the foreseeable future. No official announcement had been made, but it appeared all his engagements had been canceled.
